I want to climb the holy mountain
ascend over weight of stone
and force of gravity, follow the
rise of a wide and cracked earth
toward eternal sky,
measured steps across the sharp path,
rest often to catch my heavy breath.

I want to hear the silence of stone and stars,
lie back on granite's steep rise
face to silver sky's glittering points
where I can taste the galaxies
on my tongue, communion of fire,
then stand on the summit and
look out at the laboring world.

I want to witness earth's slow turning
with early light brushing over me,
a hundred hues
of grey, pink, gold,
speckles of Jackson Pollock light,
then ribbons of mist floating
like white streamers of surrender.

I want to look back down the trail
as if over my past, forgive a thousand tiny
and tremendous transgressions
because now all that matters
is how small I feel under the sky,
even the sparrowhawk takes no notice of me,
how enlarged I feel by knowing this smallness.

I want to be like St. Patrick,
climb the holy mountain full of
promise and direction and knowing,
forty days of fasting aloft among clouds

until my body no longer hungers
and something inside is satisfied
and my restless heart says here,
no longer dreaming of other peaks.

Patrick is the patron saint of Ireland, and the most well-known of all the Celtic saints. He was born in 390 near England’s west coast or in Wales. When he was young, about sixteen years old, he was captured by pirates and taken to Ireland where he lived as a slave for six years. He endured many hardships including hunger, thirst, and cold under the rule of a cruel pagan king.

It was during his enslavement, while spending long hours in solitude tending sheep, that he had a spiritual awakening. Through dreams and other voices, Patrick was able to escape and return back home again.

I find St. Patrick’s story intriguing. Here was a man enslaved, who escaped by divine intervention, and then hears the call to return to the land of his slavery and he goes willingly.

There are churches founded by Patrick in the area around Galway. One of my favorite sites is Inchgoaill, an island on Lough Corrib, just a few miles north of us. Legend tells us that Patrick was banished here for a time by local druids. The name of the place means “island of the stranger.” The island is now uninhabited, but there is a stone church at the site where Patrick’s 5th century wooden church would have been, as well as a marker stone where his nephew and navigator is buried, one of the oldest Christian markers we have.

Seeking out this “strangeness” and “exile” was at the heart of the monastic call. In going to the places which make us feel uncomfortable and staying with our experience, rather than running away, they cracked themselves open to receive the Spirit in new ways.

If the stories and inspiration of the Celtic Saints calls to you, please consider joining us for The Soul’s Slow Ripening, an online retreat this spring which explores Celtic wisdom for discernment. We have a discount for early registration which ends March 15th.